The Undead Pool. Kim Harrison
punishing her for walking away from the altar the first time. But that kiss we’d shared three months ago hung in my memory. He hadn’t been drunk—I’d swear to it—but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been a mistake. You couldn’t be two things. I’d tried, and it didn’t work. And I wouldn’t be his mistress. I was better than that.
Damn it, I’m babbling.
“You don’t have to boycott them on account of me,” I said as we neared the SUV. Jenks darted to my car in the shade, and Trent’s posture relaxed. He liked the pixy, but Jenks was noisy.
“I’m not,” he said softly as he handed his clubs to Jonathan. “I don’t want to be out here without someone watching my back, and I’ve seen their security. That ball shouldn’t have exploded. Not with that little tap you gave it. You’re going to get it checked out?”
I nodded, and reminded it was still in his bag, I went to get it. A chill took me as I held the prickly, twisted mass of rubber and plastic, and I looked out over the overdone green luxury, glad that distance and vegetation hid us from most of the prying eyes. I’d never liked it out here, but I’d thought it was the snobby attitudes. Maybe it was more. “I’m going to ask Al about it.”
Trent jerked at the mention of Algaliarept, a new light in his eye making me wonder if he wanted to come with me. “Sa’han?” Jonathan questioned, and the look died as Trent took the dress shoes he was holding out.
“Just calling it early, Jon,” Trent said, his voice holding a new weariness. “I got a text about a misfired charm in one of the off-site labs and want to check it out personally.”
“You need me?” I asked, and Jenks’s dust sparkled from halfway across the lot. He had very good hearing.
But Trent only smiled. “No, but thanks. Those things are almost foolproof, and I want to talk personally to the man who got burned. Make sure I’m not being scammed.”
I nodded, my creep factor rising at the siren coming from the nearby interstate.
“I heard shouting,” Jonathan prompted, clearly unconvinced as Trent sat on the tailgate and unlaced his shoes.
“We took care of it.” Trent stopped. Hunched over his feet to look both out of reach and totally accessible, he tilted his head and eyed Jonathan, clearly wanting him to leave.
Jonathan’s thin lips screwed up as if he’d eaten something sour. Back ramrod straight, he stalked to the passenger side and got in, slamming the door in protest. Trent’s lips quirked and he went back to his shoes. Jonathan could still hear us but at least he wasn’t staring. The wind was catching in Trent’s hair, making me want to smooth it out.
Stop it, Rachel.
My car was three spaces down and across the lot, but I was reluctant to leave. Trent looked weary, the sun full on his face and his green eyes squinting as he took a cleated shoe off and slipped his dress shoe on. I remembered how he’d stuck up for me, and something in me fluttered. It had been happening a lot lately. Don’t get involved, Rachel. You know it’s because he’s out of reach.
Trent stood, cleats in his hand. “Let me know what you find out.”
“Tomorrow. Unless it’s bad news,” I said, and Trent shut the back of the SUV.
“Tomorrow,” Trent affirmed as he came closer, and my smile froze. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do. “Thanks for today,” he said softly as he gave my hand a squeeze.
“You’re welcome,” I said, wanting to acknowledge it but afraid to, and his grip fell away. Professional. I was professional. He’d been nothing but professional back to me ever since that kiss, his mouth tasting of wine and me breathless and wanting to know how long it took to get him undressed. I knew that he was going to marry Ellasbeth, that he had a standard to live up to that didn’t include a local girl with a crazy mom and pop-star dad.
But he kept touching me. And I kept wanting him to.
Jenks was picking the bugs out of my car grille with his sword and shoving them off with his foot. Meeting my eyes, he made a get-on-with-it gesture, but Trent wasn’t making any motion to leave and I didn’t know what he wanted. “I’ll talk to you later, then,” I said, rocking back a step.
“Right. Later.” Head down, Trent started to go, then turned back unexpectedly. “Rachel, are you available tonight?”
I continued to back up, going toe-heel, toe-heel, not watching where I was going. There it was again. Professional, but not. My first response was to turn him down, but I could use the money and I had promised Quen I’d look after him. Jenks’s dust flashed an irritated red at the delay, and I said, “Sure. Business or casual business?”
“Casual,” Trent said, and I put my hands in my pockets. “Ten okay? I’ll pick you up.”
He was going to want to nap around midnight, so whatever it was, it’d be over by then. Either that, or it was a meeting with someone on a night schedule that couldn’t be tweaked.
“Ten,” I said, confirming it. “Where are we going?”
Trent’s head ducked, and spinning on a heel, he walked to his SUV. “Bowling!” he shouted, not looking back.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” I muttered. It didn’t matter. I’d be wearing something black and professional no matter where we went. The kite show, a horse event, the park with Ellasbeth when she came to pick up or drop off the girls and Trent didn’t want her on the grounds. Even an overnight trip out of state for business. I liked doing stuff with Trent, but I always felt like a cog out of place. As I should—I was his security, not his girlfriend.
“Oh, for sweet ever loving Tink!” Jenks complained when I got to my car. “Are you done yet? I’ve got stuff to do this afternoon.”
“We’re done,” I said softly as I slipped in behind the wheel of my little red MINI Cooper. Trent was backing up, and I waited as he leaned across a stiff-looking Jonathan and shouted out the open window “Let me know what Al says!” before putting it in drive and heading for the interstate. If Quen had been here, he would’ve insisted on driving, but Jonathan could be swayed and I knew Trent liked his independence—not that he had that much.
“Al, huh?” Jenks said, suddenly interested as I sat behind the wheel and watched Trent leave. “You think that’s a good idea?” Jenks asked, now hovering inches before my nose.
I leaned forward to start my car. “He can tell me if there was a charm on it,” I said, and Jenks landed on the rearview mirror, distrust and unease falling from him in an orangey dust. I was tired, annoyed, and I didn’t like the unsettled, more-than-being-said feeling I was getting from Trent. “It shouldn’t have exploded,” I added, and Jenks’s wings slowly fanned in agreement.
If someone was targeting Trent, I wanted to know. It was worth bothering Al over, though he’d just tell me to let the man die.
That ball shouldn’t have exploded.
The sun was a slow flash through Cincinnati’s buildings as I fought afternoon traffic headed for the bridge and the Hollows beyond. The interstate was clogged, and it was easier to simply settle in behind a truck in the far right lane and make slow and steady progress than to try to maintain the posted limit by weaving in and out of traffic.
My radio was on, but it was all news and none of it good. The misfired charm at Trent’s facility wasn’t the only one this morning, and so far down on the drama scale that it hadn’t even been noticed, pushed out by the cooking class in intensive care for massive burns and the sudden collapse of a girder slamming through the roof of a coffeehouse and injuring three. The entire east side of the 71 corridor was a mess, making me think my sand-trap crater had been part of something bigger. Misfires weren’t that common, usually clustered by the batch and never linked only by space and time.
Jenks